


A Thousand Fragrant Posies

by rabidchild67



Series: Five Times... [10]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>El brings Moz flowers in the hospital. </p>
<p>Set sometime after Point Blank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Fragrant Posies

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a poem by Christopher Marlowe, the subject matter of which has absolutely nothing to do with this story. I'm not that literary, I swear.

Elizabeth sighed as she set the flowers down on the small dresser along the wall of the hospital room. It had been a few days and still Moz was in his coma. She sighed because she realized this was the second arrangement she’d brought. It had been so long, and when he woke up, it would be to see something beautiful if she had anything to do with it.

She took the familiar seat at the side of the bed and laid her hand over the strange little man’s and squeezed. It twitched – some autonomic response, she figured – his face remained undisturbed.

“You know you’ve got to pull out of this, right? For him?” she told Moz.

She’d sent Neal home a few minutes ago with a tub of homemade soup and fresh bread and orders to get some sleep. He always looked so exhausted, the poor thing. Between working with Peter to catch this Larssen person to sitting up with Moz as long as the hospital staff would allow, Neal was running himself ragged and it had Elizabeth worried for him. Not just for his health, but for his mental state. Neal was a man who felt things too keenly and too deeply, and as a conman had become too adept at hiding it. Elizabeth was worried he’d soon crack.

She’d pointed it out to Peter, but he’d brushed her off. “Caffrey’s OK,” he’d said, and she could tell there was something more behind his comment. Peter was hurting because of what Neal had done at the Russian Heritage Museum, felt he’d been betrayed, and it was weighing on his mind.

Which left things to Elizabeth to take care of, she thought. She was happy to. Over the years, she’d noticed her motherly streak coming out whenever Peter would introduce her to his young agents; they were a constant fixture in his life, they might as well be in hers. She liked sharing in that aspect of Peter’s life. And since Neal Caffrey re-entered the picture, it had become so much larger, infringing often into their marriage. She didn’t mind the intrusion, Neal's intrusion, even on the occasion when it had affected her business. He’d made it up to her and then some.

There was something about Neal – and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it – a magical blend of intelligence, earnestness, mischief and, all right, sexiness, that bought him a pass most of the time. He held a special place in her heart, she had long ago realized, and she knew he held one in Peter’s. Most of the time.

But Neal’s spark had been snuffed out in recent days as he drove himself to find those responsible. She hoped it could be rekindled by the man in the hospital bed. The man who was his loyal friend and literal partner in crime, she suspected. Watson to Neal's Holmes. Hope to Neal's Crosby.

“He can’t do this without you,” she told Moz, squeezing his hand again. She glanced over at the flowers. Gerbera daisies and lemon leaves – nothing that would annoy with cloying scents. “He’s not him without you. Please come back.

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
